Spring bursts today, For love is risen and all the earth's at play. — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
“Spring bursts today, For love is risen and all earth's at play.” — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
The rose saith in the dewy morn, I am most fair; Yet all my loveliness is born Upon a thorn. — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trust March with its peck of dust, Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers, Nor… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
I watched a rose-bud very long Brought on by dew and sun and shower, Waiting to see the perfect flower: Then when… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, Snow on… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
What is green? The grass is green, With small flowers between. What is violet? Clouds are violet In the summer twilight. What… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
There is no time like Spring When life's alive in everything, Before new nestlings sing, Before cleft swallows speed their journey back… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
Observe this dew-drenched rose of Tyrian gardens A rose today. But you will ask in vain Tomorrow what it is; and yesterday… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
“In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
The Bourne Underneath the growing grass, Underneath the living flowers, Deeper than the sound of showers: There we shall not count the… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing; Where in… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
Oh that it were with me As with the flower; Blooming on its own tree For butterfly and bee Its summer morns:… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
January cold and desolate; February dripping wet; March wind ranges; April changes; Birds sing in tune To flowers of May, And sunny… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
“A Robin said: The Spring will never come, And I shall never care to build again. A Rosebush said: These frosts are… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
All earth's full rivers can not fillThe sea that drinking thirsteth still. — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
And sometimes I remember days of old When fellowship seemed not so far to seek, And all the world and I seemed much less… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
“Fallen from sonship, beggared of grace, Grant me. Father, a servant’s place. ” — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
“ Remember Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots? — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
“A Robin said: The Spring will never come, And I shall never care to build again. A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome, My… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
What can I give Him, Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb. If I were a Wise… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
Observe this dew-drenched rose of Tyrian gardens A rose today. But you will ask in vain Tomorrow what it is; and yesterday It was… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
Born in a stable, Cradled in a manger, In the world His hands have made, Born a stranger. — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live My very life again though cold in death; Come back to me in dreams,… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
“I have no heart? Perhaps I have not; / But then you're mad to take offense / That I don't give you what I… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
“In an Artist’s Studio One face looks out from all his canvases, One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans: We found her hidden… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share
